A Knife Clothed in Silk
by Tenmei
Summary: From Holly Lisle's Secret Text series: Ry tries to stop Yanth from avenging Jaim's death. BEWARE: boy/boy love, okay? Yes I'm strange. Thank you. Possible sequel...


"Please don't go through with this," Ry begged yet again of his last lieutenant. "It's pure insanity!"   
The blonde haired youth sighed, fastening the last of his elaborate arm guards. "Ry, I don't really have a choice." 

The Karnee snorted, moving closer. "You could make the choice to live. Dammit, Jaim wouldn't have wanted you to die for no cause!" 

Yanth froze, a steely look in his blue-green eyes. Ry immediately regretted his words, an unlikely happening. He still wasn't sure what it was about his lieutenants; they had always managed to make the more powerful skinshifter cringe at their anger. Trying to ease his dry throat, he swallowed and lightly ran his fingers over the taller boy's white scars. 

Ry didn't know why the marks on Yanth face always seemed to draw him. Two white vertical lines on each of Yanth's otherwise perfect cheeks, earned when trying to protect his lord. Maybe if was the guilt that beauty was marred because of his foolishness, or confusion that Yanth wore them like badges of honor, without shame. Whatever it was, the pull was stronger than usual, a sense of fear knotting itself in the bottom of his stomach. 

He had almost cried when Karyl died. His cynical, dark cousin would no longer play those sweet, mourning songs. No more would his heart feel like it was breaking beneath his skilled tongue. He hadn't even had enough time to bury his good friend. 

He lost his gentle bard, his light scents of vanilla and cinnamon. His Stars. 

He had damned neared howled in anger and sorrow when he discovered Trev had died. The youngest and most willing to serve, Ry had lost far more than just another lieutenant. He had heard Trev's soft voice apologizing over and over because he had left without him. That he had broken his promise to serve until death by enemy hands. Beautiful, pale Trev, gone, killed by the very blades Ry had bestowed upon him. 

Gone was his child, his scent of morning glories and dew. His Moon. 

Then there was Valard, his traitor, his sheep in wolves clothing. His death had wounded Ry deeper than imaginable, for his darling lieutenant had betrayed him. But had it been truly of Valard's choice? It had to have been a spell. Valard would have hanged himself before being called a traitor. It hurt more to remember the drift that had been formed before that terrible night he had lost both Trev and Valard. His mother had gotten what she deserved. You shouldn't play with a warrior's heart. Oh, Valard! I forgive you with every fiber of my being! Don't ever forget that! 

Stolen from him was his light, Valard's mixed herbal fragrances. His Sun. 

And finally, Jaim. Quiet, clever, loyal, remarkable Jaim! Killed in a misunderstanding. Ry had no time to weep over his nearly invisible lieutenant's death, but after all was done, he had wailed. Jaim, his silent spy, his voice of reason, his steady rock in a violent storm, was gone. Totally and utterly gone. Not even was his body properly buried, nor had Ry been able to say goodbye. It was no surprise that Yanth craved blood in revenge, But that wouldn't bring his sweet Jaim back. No. Jaim was damned well gone, like all the others. 

Lost was his darkness, his cherrywood and lavender smells. His Night. 

He accepted Karyl's death. He managed to swallow Trev's. He had been sure it was more merciful to have let Valard die. He had wept enough over Jaim. 

But could he stand to lose Yanth? 

Yanth, his first in command, his last lieutenant, his knife clothed in silk. Already a hollow emptiness Kait could not fill had begun to surround him, a need for his lieutenants burning greatly from within. He needed Yanth's sweet scents of roses and steel. he couldn't go on without them. He had burned for Kait's love, but yearned for Yanth's nearness just as much. 

And now, the fates would rob him of his very World. 

Feeling the tears burn in his pale blue eyes, he threw away his pride to beg, actually beg his last lieutenant to stay with him, to forget about dying.   
"   
Please. Don't go," he croaked, trying desperately to hide his tears. "Don't leave me, Yanth. I couldn't bear it if you left me. Please..."   


Yanth nearly pulled back as Ry touched his scarred cheeks. Didn't Ry know how much all of them had loved him, how much they had yearned for him, how much they had wanted him? This Karnee obviously didn't understand what it felt like to be casually caressed by someone who you wanna fuck so badly it hurts. All of them friends. Nothing more, nothing less. All of them trying to hide from the intuitive shapeshifter what truly lay beneath each's smiling and caring face, the lewd remarks about whores, the playful prods and light touches.   
  
They might've done too well, since Ry still didn't seem to have a bloody clue.   
  
But Jaim had seen Yanth's love all too clearly, and had probably known about the others. But Jaim hadn't cared. Jaim had taken upon himself to relieve and soothe Yanth's badly hidden passions for his young commander. Yes, Jaim had loved them all.   
  
And Jaim was dead.   
  
Dead. The word ringing in every cell of Yanth's pulsing body. He had lost his lover, his tender dark youth who hadn't been a true fighter, but a strategist. His body raged with anger, feelings askew. Nothing would stop this red haze that clouded his eyes since he had watched that murderer's sword cut through Jaim's slender body and jerked back out, taking crimson blood with it. The last sounds of Jaim's smooth voice, that broken scream, still howled in his ears, the sickening scent of Jaim's sweet blood still caught in his memory. And that damned, heavy guilt pushing him into the ground because he was not even able to bury and properly mourn his friend. He would not let his lover's senseless death go unavenged. 

And yet here was Ry, in his damned annoying seductive manner, telling him to let it go, begging him to forget everything Jaim had stood for, had lost.   
  
Like fucking hell he would.   
  
But the yearning and obvious need in Ry's voice, the powerful pull of his dark-rimmed eyes, the exhilarating mixture of animal and human scent filling his lungs, it was damned near impossible to keep his thoughts. 

Like a whisper through the trees, Yanth heard Ry beg again, this time far weaker and more seductive, for him to stay. That he couldn't survive without him. Bitter thoughts filled Yanth's mind, an insane urge to take this youth now while he was so vulnerable pounded through his veins. 

He knew Jaim would understand if he did. But he couldn't anymore. Yanth started to wonder when he had fallen out of love with Ry and in love with Jaim.   
  
And yet he knew he would never have this chance again.   
  
He tipped his head and gave the damned Karnee a taste of what he had been feeling all these long years, a vicious and wild kiss. 

  
Ry was at a loss for things to do or say. Yanth had taken his mouth so powerfully and yet so gently. He could break away and kill the damned bastard for it, but he couldn't. He didn't want to.   
  
The realization slammed into the Karnee, the reasons for the hunger he felt for his friends. But they'd never know.   
  
How could he face Kait now, with this new revelation? He burned for her as well. Would she be able to understand? How could he-? 

All thoughts were put on hold as Yanth started to wickedly move his tongue, exploring the dark recesses of Ry's quivering mouth. Shit, when had he learned how to do that? Ry was known as a skilled love maker, but damn it all to hell, Yanth made him seem like a clueless boy on his first night with an amorous lady. It angered Ry that his lieutenant should have so fully caught him, Ry Sabir, off guard. Viciously, he responded to the kiss, tasting, savoring, loving every sensation. They parried and riposted in perfect coordination, as dangerous and thrilling as one of their duels with swords.   
  
He tangled his slender fingers in Yanth's golden hair, fingering the shortness of it. A playful memory of him and the others braiding it with bows when they were younger made him mourn the loss of the long wavy mass it had been before. How often had they teased Trev that he'd be mistaken for a girl for the rest of his life, though he had more of his mother's beauty than his sisters? Or that Karyl would never get a wife because he simply was outright rude to women? Or that Valard and Yanth would be mistaken as one of the boys in the pleasure quarters, simply because they chose to dress like one, a dandy, to catch the eye of a lady? Or that Jaim would never lose his virginity because it was always like he was never there? 

People had always saw Ry as the gorgeous one, because of his lineage. But Ry only saw the beauty of his lieutenants. And he never wanted to forget. Yanth had told him so much, the love that held them together, the pain of losing someone who understood, the true meaning of the word 'lover'. 

He didn't want it to end, wanted it to go further, wanted to hold his sweet friend till eternity was done. He ached for Yanth's hands to touch him, for Yanth to take him with all this skill he possessed. He yearned to know what he had never gotten a chance to have, pleaded for the scents and sensations of the lithe youth to never leave him alone.   
But you cannot have everything you wish for. 

He felt Yanth release him, the gasps for glorious air nothing compared to the way Yanth's mouth felt. He would never remember Yanth's sensuous lips the same way ever again. He knew a look of hunger had settled itself in his blue eyes, but knew he couldn't have it, that he was too late. Swallowing the last tastes of Yanth, he tried to look as if it had meant nothing, that he would have slowly ripped Yanth to shreds and drank his blood for his boldness. 

"You're going to be late." 

  
Yanth almost winced, knowing the voice Ry used too well and then not at all. It sounded like the voice Ry used just before he tore someone's throat and squashed it to to a bloody pulp, but... His voice quivered, just a little too much. A slight fear had seeped into his usually rich timbre, catching the notice of the skilled warrior, and he realized that Ry was acting, trying very desperately to not care.   
  
That Ry had realized how much he loved him.   
  
He could have stayed, could have told Ry so much more, could have had Ry and taken him for all he was worth. But Yanth didn't. Stroking his commander's soft cheek once more, he drew the Karnee in for a light good bye kiss.   
  
"I have to do this, Ry," he whispered, his voice thick with conflicting motions. "I'm sorry. Farewell, Commander."   
  
Silently he thanked the gods Ry knew enough to not make Yanth make a stupid promise like to come back alive. He knew that good bye meant good bye. He strapped his sword onto his belt and headed toward the door, not daring to look back. He didn't trust himself enough to be able to walk calmly away from his best friend like that. 

He didn't want to see Ry fall to his knees and weep.   


Rielt took another long drag on his cigarette. That dandy, who had promised a painful death in return for his friend's, was late. Moving his hand to check his sword, he started to wonder why the hell it was shaking so much. Swordsman or not, that BOY was still nothing but a dandy, a pretty thing clothed in the richest silks and oiled in the sweetest fragrances. 

So why had Rielt been so scared when that blonde haired kid snarled and demanded blood payment for that other boy-toy's death? Shuddering, he began to curse the weather. It was most definitely going to rain. Just his f*cking luck. 

He felt the younger man's presence before he heard the soft crunch of gravel underfoot of his leather boots. The drive for battle burned through this boy's veins, a hot dizzying sensation. Pushing his shaggy bangs out of his eyes and putting out his cigarette, he turned to face his opponent. 

This child was no longer dressed as a weapon of a court, but of a warrior. He wore no armor other than elaborately painted arm guards and similar shin guards. Garbed in a old leather jerkin, his clothing was intricately simple, nothing like what Rielt had seen before. Anyone might have mistaken him for a normal young man readying for a spar with his friends. 

Might have. 

For this youth wore all black, a sure sign of mourning. His face was also very pale, making his white scars even more stunning. The color of his eyes had shifted to the same metallic color of the dark steel sword strapped on his side, a menacing cold mix of black and silver. An ebony cross dangled from his left ear, completing the picture of what an executioner should look like in your nightmares. 

A knife clothed in silk is still a knife. Remove the silk, and it can kill you as easily as it can seduce you. It can still draw blood and howl in victory as well as any blade sheathed in iron. 

And now the colorful silks had been stripped from this youth, leaving nothing but a naked blade. Rielt had misjudged this kid, badly, a mistake he might pay for with his life. 

Swallowing, he managed an uneasy grin. "Thought you weren't gonna show." 

He didn't like the way the boy returned the smirk. "I'm not the type of gentleman that would stand his date up." 

A nervous laugh. "Well, then. I always like to know the names of the people I kill. Won't you tell me yours?" 

The youth laughed right back, a little bitterly. "I'm not really planning on dying, but I'll tell you anyway. It's Yanth." 

_ Liar. You fool child. I see it in your eyes, your walk, the way you will hold your sword. You come here with every intention today to die. But not without killing me first. Arrogant bastard, aren't you?_   
  
"Hm. I'm Rielt," he replied, steadying his hand on the hilt of his sword. Well, what else was he supposed to say? Losing some of his fear, he gave Yanth a warning grin. 

And charged.   


Yanth barely had time to draw to block the swift attack. But he wasn't afraid of dying. He had one purpose now, to kill the man who had killed Jaim. And there was no fucking way in hell that this damned soul was gonna stop him. 

Snarling, he forced the other man to the defensive, his gleaming blade whipping through the air in a series of vicious attacks. This Rielt managed to block every one. 

In a normal situation, Yanth might have been impressed and stopped the spar to ask his opponent how he had learned how to do that. But this was not a normal situation. The red haze became bloodier, clouding and enhancing his vision at the same time. Yanth didn't recognize the inhuman roars that ripped through the humid air as his own. 

And he didn't fucking care anyway. 

The rain started to fall. 

But Rielt somehow turned the tide back, stabbing at Yanth in a multitude of skilled thrusts, putting Yanth back on the defense. Another growl found its way to his throat, a rich, terrifying sound. 

The two swordsmen whirled and lunged at each other, engaging in an ever-changing dance of power. They fought like savage lions, an intimate and sophisticated choreography. In its strange and glorious way, it was a thousand times better than sex, the clash of steel meeting steel, the feel of your opponent's breath as hot and sultry as your own as they struggle just as desperately as you to be the one to first draw blood. 

What a magnificent feeling it was! Yanth wanted to howl in the glory of it, the surreal sensations of fiery sweat and freezing rain slipping down his back. 

Rielt drew first blood, a small nick just under the scar received in a similar battle. The smile Yanth gave in return was not a comforting one. 

Blood began to fall faster than the rain from the sky. The dance had changed to a dangerous waltz of death.   


Rielt knew that something was wrong. He was breathing too hard. Much too damn hard. Things were not looking in his favor for this fight. That boy was an animal; caution and pain meant nothing to him, a maniacal grin plastered on his face. Blood oozed from deep cuts and gouges in Yanth's flesh, but Rielt had realized that he didn't really give a f*cking damn. His black clothes were tattered, flying around him in the wind and rain like black wings, a perfect vision of a dark angel of vengeance. 

The next pass would be the last.   


The older man charged, the speed of his sword just a split second too slow. In a blink of an eye, Yanth felt his sword find Rielt's chest, a sickening experience as it cut through the other man's bones like butter, seeking his heart, like so many other times Yanth had killed. 

But much slower, a dragging pace that gave no mercy, only bucketfuls of pain. Rielt coughed, blood spurting out from his lips as Yanth tore the blade from his breast, only inches from his heart and swift death. 

This was what he had craved for, what would have made the red haze go away. It would have made up for the fact that Yanth hadn't been able to protect Jaim when the younger boy had needed him the most. It should have eased Yanth's dying soul. 

But it didn't. 

Yanth fell to the ground the same time Rielt did, throwing up vomit and blood. It didn't feel right, it couldn't be right!! His vision was clear, but he only felt revulsion and hate, no sanctuary. Pain, unbelievable pain and death. 

He wanted to beg Rielt for forgiveness, for his stupid, horrid mistake that would cost the man's life. But he couldn't. He was still a warrior. And warriors don't tell each other, "Sorry," every time they kill another. Pulling himself up, he glanced at the older man, a faint glimmer of painful life still flickering in his glazed eyes. 

Yanth couldn't help but wonder if this man had a home that he would never go back to, or perhaps a lover that would never know his embrace again. What if he had a family, or a best friend who thought him dearer than the world? What had he done to deserve this? It had been an accident, Jaim's death. And Yanth had just killed him for it. He felt the bile and blood once again rise in the back of his torn throat. 

There was only one thing Yanth could do. He raised his sword again.   


Rielt watched amusement. "I thought you said I would die a painful death," he joked. 

The youth froze, tears mingling with blood and rain. "I've changed my mind, but if that's how you feel, then I'll leave you." 

Gods, he could have got to like this kid! "Nah. Do as you like." 

The hurt was unbearable, every breath forcing his body to welcome death. He looked at Yanth closer. "Get your wounds treated, kid. You're too young to die." 

A gentle smile this time. "I killed out of revenge. Don't you have someone who will kill me from revenge as I have done to you? Me dying ends the cycle I've started before it gets too bad. I'm not afraid." 

Rielt returned the grin. Kid, you should be. "Fine. Be that way. I'll guess I'll be seeing you in the Veil then." he closed his eyes, awaiting the final blow. 

And he fell into the darkness.   


Yanth found out quickly that it was a stupid idea to move, but he did it anyway, despite every muscle in his body screaming at him with anger and pain. He made his way though the mud and grass to the edge of the cliff. 

Memories pierced through the fog of pain, blurring his vision with useless tears. He had chosen this place for battle for several reasons. First, it was well away from anyone or anything, a jagged piece of shoreline, often used for training. Covered in thick grasses, it towered above the sharp rocks and ocean below. Second, was because if he jumped from the cliff here, his body would never wash ashore. And finally, because it was the place Yanth had given everything to Jaim, his heart, his body, his soul. 

What a bittersweet thing memories could be... 

Memories...   


Ian stormed through the halls. Arriving at his brother's room, he very nearly tore it off its hinges to only find Kait, sitting there with a surprised look on her face, sipping tea. 

He swore at himself for forgetting Ry and Kait now SHARED a room. "Where is Ry?" he asked in the politest tone he could muster in this situation. 

"Last I heard, he was arguing with Yanth." She tilted her head towards Yanth's room, using her sharper senses to catch any wisps of dialogue. 

"Trying to make him regain his sanity or something." 

Ian swore again, more viciously. "Well then he didn't do a very good job! Rielt left this morning for the training grounds this morning. He didn't tell me why, but I've been asking around and it seems people saw Yanth headed in the same direction." 

"I thought it had been quiet for a while." She shrugged, infuriating Ian even more, no matter how much he still loved her. 

"Kait!!" 

"What?" 

Ian sighed, trying to release some of his anger. And his fear. "Rielt was the one who killed Jaim." 

"Well then the bloody bastard should die." 

"Kait," he reprimanded sternly. 

She laughed, sweet music to his ears. "I know how much you love your crew, Ian. I didn't mean to insult them with my joke. What do you want me to do?" 

"I want you to go talk some sense into Ry. Make him go and stop the fight. You're a damned good diplomat, you know." 

She grinned, "Yes, I am. But why can't you go and stop it?" 

His faint smile and anger seemed to drain away, leaving a soft melancholy expression that Kait never thought she'd see on Ian. "I won't make it in time. I'm not fast enough, like you and him. With the rain, the battle should be nearly over by now. It'd take me twenty minutes, too long. But if you or Ry went, it would only take seven or so, probably just in time to take care of the wounded winner." 

She turned back to her tea, her voice dark. "so you really believe that it will be a fight to the death?" 

Ian paused for a moment, watching the pouring rain. "Kait, with those blades and Yanth's anger, there's no way it won't be." 

Sighing, she stood, her eyes full of a Karnee passion and fire. "Fine. Let's go and pay your brother a little visit then." 

Ian managed a grin. "Yes, let's."   


Death. 

Ry curled himself into a little ball, savoring each scent still left on Yanth's cold bed, tears slowly slipping down his cheeks. 

Gone. 

Yanth was gone, He didn't want to come back. He wanted to die, wanted to find Jaim. He knew how much Ry needed him, but Ry had others to care for him, others to love him. Yanth didn't.   
  
Blood. 

His senses wouldn't let go of the feeling of Yanth kissing him, of the sensations Yanth had made on his body, the thrill of battle in both of their veins, but not with swords. He choked, never wanting to forget. 

He felt old, felt drained, felt lifeless. His Karnee senses didn't register people pounding on the door. He didn't know that it was broken down with Ian in all his anger and Kait in her calmness, bearing down on him. He didn't get any of the words Ian was shouting at him either. Why wouldn't they just leave him in peace? 

He did realize, however, when Ian fully punched him in the face. And the gut. 

"Shit! Damn you dirty son of a bitch! What the fuck was that for!?" 

Ian grinned, a bit smugly. Damn him. "Looks like the idiot has some life left in him after all. He still hates me." 

"Gee, I wonder why?" Ry spat, snarling. 

Ian replied with another, irritating grin. 

"Boys, I hate to break up this little show of brotherly love, but if you haven't forgotten, someone's life is on the line, here," Kait scolded, locking her eyes on Ry. 

Ian nodded. "I'll leave you two alone, then. Take care of him, Kait." 

She smiled. "Of course." 

His brother left, Ry silently cursing him. Kait turned her attention back to her lover. "Now, Ry. Where do you want me to begin?" 

He wouldn't meet her dark gaze. 

"Nothing to say? Let me ask you a question then. How come you can have any lover you want, but I can't be in love with Ian unless I want his throat torn out?" 

Ry found himself gaping at her, blue eyes wide. "How-" 

"I hear all. And I see just as well with my ears. I saw him kiss you, saw your body respond. Now tell me. How long were you going to keep it a secret?" 

"I didn't-" 

She smiled. "You knew that all of them loved you. You just didn't want to think they did, right?" 

Again, he wouldn't meet her gaze. 

She laughed a little. "It's all right. I don't mind. But Yanth is dying now. Don't let him go so easily, love. I'll still be here when you get back. And I'll love you just as much." 

In an instant, Ry was Shifting, eyes wild. He wouldn't let Yanth just die like that. He couldn't. Howling, he was gone, fast than the eye could see. 

Kait silently smiled to herself. Yanth was just too cool of a guy to let die. So why did she feel tears start to prick in her eyes? She wished she knew why she felt like vomiting from the knot of fear in her stomach. Quietly, she sent a prayer to the Veil, asking that even if Yanth didn't return alive, her lover would. 

Slowly, she left the room, not liking the feeling of emptiness in it. Nothing Yanth had ever called home should have felt like that. 

Nothing.   


Everything moved in a blur as Ry raced through the back paths to the training grounds. I won't forgive you if you kill yourself, Yanth. I'll never forgive you if you break our promise! You know how much Trev hurt me! Don't you dare copy him! 

Doubts and fears filled his mind, but were quickly stashed away. He should only concentrate on the speed, the howling of the wind and the beating of his frantic heart. Gods, please let him still be alive! 

Ian had estimated it would take about seven minutes. It took Ry a little more than four. 

But it was the longest four minutes in his life. 

Stumbling through the muddy battle ground, he clumsily Shifted back into human form, not caring about his unclothed state. Taking no note of Rielt's body, he tried to get his brain to function well enough to register where Yanth might be. The rain was a pounding force, dripping into his burning eyes and the stench of human blood soaked the air, making it hard to catch Yanth's faint scent. Roughly pushing his bangs from his eyes, he managed to follow the irregular footsteps from the beaten training ground to the coarse grass around the cliffs. 

He didn't like what he saw. 

Huddled within the sweet smelling grass lay his first in command, his friend, his love. If not for the many bloody wounds decorating his body, one might have thought he had just lay to rest, his eyes closed in a peaceful slumber, his lips parted in an innocently seductive way, inviting a kiss. His gold hair seemed to shine among the drab stalks of thick grass, a beautiful mix of light. 

Ry's knees finally gave way beneath him, drained from the Shift and the constant waves of emotion. 

The tears began to fall like the sweet droplets of rain caught in his silky hair. 

He wept.   


"Yanth." 

A lover's call, gentle, caring, filled with faint dark promises and secret desires. Rolling off that sweet tongue in the voice of an angel, innocent, to calm the tortured soul beneath. Soft, like a kiss from the wings of a dove, passionate, seductive, wild yet calming. Touching his senses in a teasing caress, falling deeper into him than anything. 

Jaim. 

But Jaim was dead... 

Someone called him, called him in the voice Jaim used, the quiet dark tone. But who? Did it really matter? Why? 

Yanth fought his way from the darkness, desperately wondering if it was really worth it to leave the sweet abyss of nothingness. He opened his crystalline eyes to see the face of an angel.   


"Yanth. Yanth! Come back, please, come back! Yanth..." Ry prayed his voice would reach him, prayed his friend would answer, prayed he wasn't dead yet. Let me see your eyes once more. Let me feel your warmth, see your smile. Let me hear that sweet laughter of yours ring in my unworthy ears, just one last time. Please, Yanth! 

Feeling the tears slip from his cheeks, he buried his head near Yanth's breast, desperately trying to fool himself into believing a living heart still beat within its cage of ribs. He ran his slender fingers against Yanth's delicate jaw line, tracing it from his memory. Yanth! Please, don't leave me! 

Like the fluttering wings of death, Yanth slowly opened his sky-colored eyes, left strangely blank. Ry thought he was going to cry harder.   
When was the last time he had wept like this? When Solander had died. Right. 

Those blue orbs stared at Ry, catching his very soul within it. Ry hoped the gaze would never leave him, never let him go. Dammit all! Hadn't they all suffered enough already? But his lieutenant closed his eyes, his body shaking. 

What the fu- 

"You're laughing!" Ry accused, glaring at Yanth. 

The reply was a badly muffled guffaw. "You're *snicker* NAKED." 

Ry wasn't sure if he choked on anger or the realization that his friend hadn't changed. "Oh great. You're DYING and that's all you can thing   
about," he shot back dryly. 

Yanth gave him his customary smirk. "But of course. I thought you knew me better than that." 

Ry turned away, but his fingers lingered, still gently stroking Yanth's smooth skin. "I...I could run you back. Treat your wounds. You COULD LIVE," he offered, ice blue not meeting sky. 

Yanth slowly shifted his smirk into a soft grin. "You liar. I'm as good as a dead man with all the loss of blood. Face it, Ry. I'm DEAD. D-E-D." 

Ry let out what was meant to be a soft chuckle. It sounded more like a shattered laugh. Was it rain or tears slipping down his captain's cheeks? 

"Ry?" 

"Hm?" 

"Hold me." 

"What?" 

Those sky eyes finally managed to draw the icy ones to them. "Hold me. Let me be close to you, draw in the scent of you, savor the touch of you. That's all I've ever wanted." 

"But you had Jaim. And now, he's the one you want, the only one you want," was the broken reply. 

A gentle smile. "Yes," he confessed. "But I still want you. Ry." 

No response. 

"Ry..." 

Steadily and carefully, Ry began to move, clutching Yanth close to him. He wished he didn't have to let go. He began to whisper a lullaby the lieutenants had sung to one another, written by Karyl, to ease the nightmares into blessed sleep. 

"Worry not my gentle friend,   
Of the battles we will face.   
Stand beside me, and without fail,   
We will all return together,   
Just like the good old days,   
Of sweet daisies chains   
And well earned bruises,   
Of tavern ale   
And sweet lush beauties.   
So sleep well for now,   
My dear, dear friend   
And when you wake,   
I will be here to greet you   
To lead you from the   
Dark of despair and,   
Bathe you in   
Our Light." 

Yanth gently brushed his lips against Ry's golden skin and nuzzled into his slender neck, breathing in every scent of wilderness, of sweet meadows and sharp woods. 

Smiling, he drew Ry into a final sweet kiss and cuddled closer to Ry's warm chest. He breathed softly and listened to the tender, familiar melody, letting it drown him in memories. His beautiful eyes of heaven closed in a gentle slumber. 

They never opened again. 

A shattered wail pierced the training grounds. The sound of a man who had lost something dearer than his own soul. The cry of a man who had just known the loss of a love. A broken, tattered scream.   


The rain seeped into Kait's simple robe of white. She delicately stepped around the battlefield of mud and tears and blood. Her eyes were carefully lined in dark kohl, dressed in mourning. In the long forgotten language of the Scarred, she spoke to her soul mate. 

"He walks the Paths to the Veil." A sweet, but dark, husky voice. 

Ry slowly stood, lifting Yanth's limp body, the soul no longer within. With eyes reddened from tears, he turned to gaze at her, his blue eyes broken mirrors of his soul. Tipping his head to bestow one last kiss upon his lieutenants white lips, he stepped to the edge of the cliff. Shutting his eyes, he let the body slip from his arms into the dark currents of sea below. 

Finally, in an equally dark voice, he replied. "I've lost my Stars, my Moon, my Sun, my Night, and finally, my World." 

His torn eyes bore into her, the dark rims making the pale blues of his eyes even more startling. 

"What, as a man, do I have left?" 

With no bitterness or envy, with no self righteousness or pride, she simply replied, "Me. Your Soul." Gently, she walked toward him, catching his too beautiful face in her strong, but delicate hands. "Dance with me," she begged, her voice a seductive pull of all the intimacies their souls shared. "Dance, love, Soul." 

He met her dark gaze with tear filled eyes. 

She returned it with a small, loving smile. 

And they danced, a dark ritual for Remembrance, for Passion, for Lust, for Death, for Life, for Earth, for Pain, for Souls.   


"But most of all, for Love," the old woman concluded, finally ending her tale. 

A young Karnee boy, no older than fourteen, stared at her with startling emerald eyes. His hair caught the light and glowed with vibrant colors of autumn, reds, golds, and bronzes. "Is that really how Grandpapa really lost the last of his lieutenants?" 

Kait smiled at her grandson. She was young by Karnee terms, so not as young as one might believe, but still old. It was painful seeing all of the traits in her daughter's son that reminded her of Ry, now deceased in an accident trying to save this child's father. Both lay dead in their graves, and this child's mother as well, shortly after giving birth to him. 

"Yes, little one, it was." 

He cocked his head to the side, looking deep into his grandmother's dark eyes. "Why tell me such a story now? Why, Grandmama?"   
She smiled a gentle, secretive smile, but before she could open her mouth to reply, a playful shout erupted from the courtyard. 

"RYYYYYIIIIIIIILLLLLL!!!! GET THEM OFF OF ME BEFORE I KILL THEM!!!"   
Attention diverted, Ryil shot an apologetic look at his grandmother before sprinting down to find his friends. Kait smiled and walked to the balcony to watch. 

Another young Karnee boy lay on the ground, kicking and twisting to be free of a young Scarred child, who sat contentedly on him, braiding flowers into his long gold hair. Another boy, human, sat reading a book on the Karnee child's back, while another stood to the side, plucking out a sweet tune on his new harp. Another Scarred boy was efficiently tying the Karnee boy up with bits of string and daisy chains as Ryil hurried on to the courtyard, flushed and laughing. 

The poor tormented Karnee boy snarled at him, sky eyes betrayed. On his right cheek were three newly acquired white scars in the form of a claw mark from a recent encounter with an enemy's weapon. He wore them proudly, along with the tattooed collar around his neck to show his Karnee blood, but he dressed in clothes one might see on a beautiful boy in the pleasure halls, all silks and veils. 

The young child who sat upon him, smiled sadly. "This wasn't my idea," he whispered, making Kait strain her Karnee ears to overhear his dark, gentle voice. Being Scarred, he had wings like angels upon his back, and smaller ones protruding behind his ears, used for nothing but decorative purposes. Under each silvery eye sat a tattooed double moon, also used to show his blood. His chestnut hair curled this way and that, perpetually messy. He wore the conservative white clothes of his kind, a sweet, gentle child. 

"It was mine!" the other Scarred child cried, finishing the last daisy chain. His gold eyes flickered mischievously. "After all, ya wouldn't hurt Wren!" Scarred like a fox, he had two fox ears instead of human and cat-slit eyes. Two tails protruded from his backside and were the auburn red of his hair. His nimble hands ended in deadly claws, his mind and fingers being nearly as sharp as his tongue. The mark of his House showed clear in the middle of his forehead, no matter how his bangs tried to hide it, and tattooed rays resembling the sun shot out from beneath his eyes. He was clothed similar to the trapped Karnee. He smirked, letting his fangs show. "Isn't that right, Daiy?" 

The dark boy Kait had nearly forgot about a minute ago looked at the other with calm violet eyes. "Perhaps,"   
was the only reply, and he turned back to his book, fading into the noise of the Karnee cursing unless you deliberately concentrated on him, which was, for some reason, hard to do. Nondescript black-brown hair with purple eyes which tended to look black at time, his skin was neither a startling tan like the Karnee child nor a pale white like the Scarred. His face, while delicate and pretty, disappeared when he was among his friends, not as exotic or outlandish as the others. He wore plain clothing, and seemed to know more than he let on. 

The other human child sighed, putting down his harp, the eldest by a few years. He wore the robes of a scholar, but probably fought better with a sword than most soldiers. His long, dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose, but neat ponytail. Around his neck hung a six pointed star, speaking of his family. On his left hand was tattooed an elaborate rune, a magic user, and a powerful one at that. His skill with music certainly had to be noted as well. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he demanded in a bit of a bossy voice, "Selar! You've had your fun. Untie Zeith. Now." 

The fox like boy whimpered, but did as he was told. 

"Wren, get off of Zeith please." 

The boy smiled, finished his braid with another ribbon, and did so gladly. 

"Ryil, help untie our friend here." 

"Friends don't tie other friends up," Zeith commented dryly. earning himself a glare. "Daiy! Get off of me!" 

"Carys didn't tell me to." 

Carys smiled and blushed, making him look years younger. "Whoops. Daiy, please get off of Zeith." 

Slowly the dark boy did. Carys cracked another smile. "Okay then. Daiy, anytime you're ready." 

Smiling faintly, the dark boy brought out a new device, one that took instant portraits of you. Looking at Zeith, he commanded in an amused   
voice. "Say, 'Cheese,' Zeith." 

"TRAITOR!!!"   


Kait watch this following chaos in great amusement, but a subtle pain began to find its way to her heart. Eyes grave, she turned to look at the framed portraits of Ry, Dughall, and Hasmal. In a dark voice, she whispered and left the room, the sound of children's laughter filling her ears and soul. 

"And so it begins again."   
  
  
  



End file.
